


Your Words on My Skin

by DizzilySpiraling



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, College Hockey, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-07 00:14:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12221826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DizzilySpiraling/pseuds/DizzilySpiraling
Summary: Bitty, it seems, makes him better.Jack doesn’t know how to process that.~Soulmate AU where markings appear on your skin after you fall in love. Sometimes it’s pictures, symbols, a name, maybe meaningful words your soulmate says to you.





	1. Jack

~

Growing up, Jack thought his parents’ love story was the most romantic thing he’s ever heard. 

Bad Bob Zimmermann was playing in Pittsburg at the time, and met Alicia at a charity benefit they were both invited to. He approached her and said he was a huge fan of her work. She had no idea who he was. After he went home that night, a delicate script appeared on Bob’s bicep. 

_Hockey? Oh. I forgot that was like a thing here._

She showed up at the next Pens game with her wrist boldly bared, an exact replica of the St.Michael pendant Bob always wore drawn on her skin. 

Jack was never a fan of the dramatics, tension, and pinning the movies depicted. When it’s his turn, he wants everything to be nice and simple. Maybe meeting through friends, and revealing their marks to each other over coffee, sign with the Habs and buy a house down the street from his parents. He’s always thought that proposing with the Cup ring would be quite romantic, though Jack realizes that may not happen for a few years after he’s drafted. 

It’s never occurred to him that he wouldn’t be drafted at all. 

Jack’s had one life plan since he first hit a puck into the back of the net. Play hockey, juniors in the Q, get drafted, win the cup. And sometime in between the last two steps, meet his soulmate in a relaxed, low stakes way. 

Instead of sitting nervously in his best suit at the draft some news sources called the ‘Jack Zimmermann Lottery’, Jack is sitting in a hospital gown with IVs sticking into his arm. He was sure that his dad asked the nurses to take the TV out of the room so he wouldn’t be tempted to turn it on. In hindsight, Jack is grateful that his parents sheltered him from the worst of the media fall out immediately after his overdose. At the time however, Jack didn’t feel anything. He stared at the drip in the IV bag for hours, lost.

His entire life had been building to this day. Draft day. When Jack would enter the NHL and begin making his mark in the world. 

He won’t be going to training camp in the fall. Won’t take his first shift on NHL ice. Won’t hear the horn blasting as the entire arena celebrates his first goal in the league. He certainly won’t have the chance to raise the Cup with Papa.

So Jack stays in the private care center and goes through the rehab program, dutifully keeping a journal where he tries his best to not write anything about hockey at all. It ends up being a book detailing the meals he has and animals he sees on his walk, but cataloguing the small details of his life becomes strangely therapeutic. Even after he quietly moves back home, Jack ends every night by writing down his meals and what he saw on his walk/run through the neighbourhood. 

In the end, it’s his mom that gives him a kick out of the proverbial door. Jack didn’t have a backup plan when he was playing in the QMJHL, didn’t think he needed one. He has his high school diploma, but application deadlines for universities have long since passed. Though it’s hard to be reminded of the fact that his life won’t be going the way he imagined, Jack knows he can’t just bum around home and work out angrily for the indefinite future. 

He leaves their neighbourhood for the first time in months, and applies to coach for a local youth hockey camp. It’s when he’s putting a resume together that Jack realizes how utterly unqualified he is for, well, anything except hockey. His resume contains his contact information, the school he went to during Juniors. Jack also includes a DVD of one of his games. To his surprise, the head coach doesn’t even take the disk. 

“I think the entire country has seen you play, Jack.” Coach Lalonde says, and before Jack has to figure out how to respond, Coach tosses a team jacket and hat at him. “Camp starts at nine on Monday. I want to see how you do with the kids, we’ll let you know by the end of the week if we’re keeping you on to coach for the team during the season.”

His first day at camp, Jack is disoriented as he steps onto the ice without the weight of his pads and his teammates chirping him for his pregame superstitions. A nine year old tapping the ice in front of him impatiently snaps him out of it, and Jack stares down at her, unsure. 

“Do you need help warming up?”

She rolls his eyes at him from under the cage of her helmet and offers a gloved hand. “I’m Zoey. I’ve been playing for two years. You’re new.”

“I’m Jack. I’m going to be one of your coaches. If Coach Lalonde likes me.” Jack smiles a little, and taps her glove with his own. “Coach Zimmermann, I guess. Or just Jack.”

“Coach Z.” She promptly decides, before roping him into helping her with her one timers. 

Jack is used as a prop a lot by the other coaches when they’re demonstrating technique and running drills, but he finds he doesn’t mind. When he first stepped into the rink, Jack was so nervous that he wouldn’t know what to say to a group of nine and ten year olds. But, hockey was hockey. And Jack didn’t lack for any words on that subject. 

At the dinner table that night, Jack puts down his fork and takes a deep breath.

“I want to play hockey.”

His parents stare curiously at him, and his mom raises an eyebrow before taking a sip of her wine. “We know, Jack.”

“In the NCAA. I’ll have to start my conditioning again,” He states resolutely, picking up his fork again. 

“Alright,” She says slowly, considering him. Papa’s been silent this entire time. “Have you considered what you’d like to major in?”

Jack hadn’t, at all. He just knows that he wants to play again. Seeing the game through the eyes of those kids, playing just because they loved hockey, Jack remembered a time when he was on the ice and didn’t worry about draft orders or ESPN’s analysis of his play. 

“No. I don’t really know. Most places let you go undeclared for a year or two at first, right?” As long as Jack can get back on the ice, he doesn’t care if he has to major in obscure Russian poets. 

“Yes, of course. You’ll have a better idea of what you like after taking a few courses,” She smiled at him, then gave Papa a meaningful look. 

“If we start your conditioning right away, there may be a few colleges that are willing to make an exception for deadlines,” Papa added, nodding at Jack. “You may be able to start in January.”

“No, I want to coach the Tigers through their season.” Jack was firm as he met Papa’s eyes. “I don’t actually know if Coach will hire me, but if he does, I want to stay. I’ll apply for a September start next year.”

Bob didn’t say anything for a few moments, and just looked at Jack, before inclining his head in agreement. “You’ll have more time to get back into shape, and talk to some coaches to see what team you’d want to play for.”

“And research some courses you might want to take.” Alicia added. “You know, I think my alma mater has a hockey team. And the campus is beautiful. You’ll only be a 90 minute flight away.”

~

Samwell was not what he expected. Actually, Jack didn’t know what to expect at all. He goes to the gym, reads for class, goes to hockey practice. He does actually take a course on Russian literature, and finds he actually quite likes it. No one he’s met so far has acted like he was anything other than a varsity athlete, except for his teammate Shitty who has no sense of personal boundaries. So Jack settles in, goes to class, plays hockey. 

He doesn’t really interact with people off the ice, but somehow Shitty becomes his best friend in that first semester anyway. Jack’s suspicious of Shitty’s enthusiasm and endless physical affection at first, but it’s nice to have something to talk to his parents about other than hockey. And one doesn’t lack for stories when Shitty is around. So Jack calls and tells his parents stories about the modern art exhibit, crashing a LAX party, and Shitty’s refusal to wear clothes while walking around their freshman dorm. 

With how often he talks about Shitty, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that his parents start drawing conclusions. 

_“Why don’t you bring him home for Christmas, Jack? We can all go skiing together.” Papa suggested over the phone._

_“He’s going to his grandparents. And then his mom’s.” Shitty certainly spent plenty of time complaining about having to spend the holidays with his family._

_“Well, your mother and I wouldn’t mind if you went to Boston for a few days,” Papa continued, his voice suspiciously even._

_“Papa. Please.” Jack protested. “That’s Bruins territory.”_

_“You know what they say Jack. Love can overcome great difficulties.” Papa chuckled, and Jack’s face immediately blanched._

_He was quiet for a moment, and Papa had to call his name to make sure the call didn’t get dropped. “Oh god, Papa. Shitty and I are not. No. Just no. Why would you even- just no.”_

_“He sounds like a nice young man, Jack. Unfortunate nicknames aside.”_

_“Papa. No.” Jack gave a little shudder at the thought. “I would’ve said something.”_

_“University is a great place to meet new people, Jack. Life exists outside the rink.”_

And then he meets Bitty.

Bitty is an enigma. Wrapped up in a 5’6’’ blond package. Bitty looked the size of players Jack played with ten years ago. But he was good. Great,even. And according to the coaches, he made _Jack_ better. 

Naturally, Jack has a lot to say about this during his calls home. 

“He can’t take a hit, Papa. I mean he’s a decent skater and has some pretty soft hands but he actually fainted in practice the other day,” Jack complains, staring into his laptop camera while doing his cooldown stretches. “Just dropped onto the ice.”

“I’m sure he made the team for a reason, Jack.” Trust Papa to always have something reasonable to say. “Even you used to trip over your own skates.”

“I was five, Papa. Not a winger in the NCAA.”

“You’re the captain of said NCAA team, Jack. Maybe you should work with him.” His mother appeared on the screen, taking Papa’s hand as she sat down. “Who knows? You might learn something from him as well.”

Jack starts checking practice with Bitty in the mornings, before his own workout and classes. Not because he thinks his mom is right, but because it’s his responsibility as the captain to make sure everyone is playing to their full potential. He can see that Bitty is a) not a morning person, b) wary of him, and c) amazing on the ice. They do lazy laps around the rink to warm up, Bitty slowly relaxing and taking the chance to show off his backwards skating skills. 

However, as soon as Jack lightly pushes him against the boards, Bitty shuts down again. It’s slow going to even get Bitty to stand next to the boards. 

“Those D-men are going to be gunning straight for you as soon as you step on the ice,” Jack’s not trying to be mean, but even in all his pads, Bitty looks like the easiest target on their team. “Look, your speed is great, and you clearly see the ice, I think you’ll do some really great things if you work on taking a hit every once in awhile.”

“I’m not _trying_ to faint, Jack.” Bitty rests a gloved hand on his hip, still refusing to skate towards the boards. 

Frustrated, Jack ran a hand through his hair, trying to remember everything he’s learned from coaching peewee over the past year. “How about this? You check me instead.” He skated over to the boards and glanced over at Bitty expectantly. 

Bitty stared at Jack dubiously, unmoving. “Why do I feel like I’m the one who’s going to fall if I try to check you?”

“You’ll be fine,” Jack laughed, squaring his shoulders. “Just skate up alongside me and push with your shoulders. And then watch me.”

Slowly, Bitty approached Jack from the side, and barely bumped their shoulders together before skating past. Jack faced the hit like he would in a game, bracing himself against Bitty and skating through it. 

“So the solution to my contact problem is to grow ten inches and become French Canadian?” Bitty chirped. Clearly, Jack needed a new strategy. 

In an effort to relax Bitty, Jack learned a series of facts about their new winger that added to his enigma. Bitty, he learned, speaks a smattering of Russian phrases in relation to figure skating, thinks canned peaches are an abomination, and also that New England is too cold for humans to inhabit. 

“Fall has barely started, it’s still above zero.” Jack protested, personally under the belief that this autumn has been quite mild. 

“Don’t you dare chirp me about what ‘real winter’ is, y’all are crazy.” Bitty looks up from taping his stick. “I bet you wouldn’t last an afternoon during a Georgian summer.”

“It’s a good thing I play hockey then, eh?” Chuckling, Jack taps Bitty’s shin pad with the blade of his stick, urging him to hurry. “We’ve only got an hour today. You’ve been improving, I think you’ll do really well at our home opener this weekend.”

“Thanks, Jack.” Bitty smiled softly, bumping their shoulders together before he skates over to the boards. “Alright, hit me.”

~

Jack has a routine on game days. It helps get him in the right mentality, and settle the powder keg of nerves that always threatens to explode. He has a pregame nap, does his stretches in the same order before taping his sticks. A snack, and then warm ups with the team. They’re used to him by now, know exactly where to find him at certain times before a game starts, and know to leave him alone when he starts to get dressed. Putting his gear on is ritualistic, Jack already envisioning the ice, going over their strategy sessions in his head, and shaking loose what tension he can before stepping into the tunnel. Jack walks out of the tunnel last, preferring to take every second possible to center himself. 

Even Shitty doesn’t attempt to talk to him while he ‘boots up the hockey playing robot’. 

Before their first game of the season is about to start, Jack notices Bitty hanging back as the rest of their team march down the tunnel. He gives Bitty a tap with his stick, and bumps their helmets together. “Let’s go get ‘em. I’ve got your back, Bits.” 

Bitty tips his head back to look up at Jack, smiling brightly and giving Jack a nod, turning to walk down the tunnel. 

Somehow, that becomes part of Jack’s game day routine. 

Nap, stretching, snack, warmups. Bump helmets with Bitty and walk out after him. 

He still talks about Bitty to his parents, though there are far fewer complaints these days. About Bitty’s hockey, that is. He complains plenty about the constant presence of pie in the Haus and the extra time it’s added to his workouts. 

But Bitty’s playing well, really well, actually. He surpasses everyone’s expectations from that first team practice, and the coaches start to try him on Jack’s right wing in practice. Maybe they just communicate better because they’ve been spending so much time together outside of practice, but their chemistry is immediately apparent. 

And Jack, well. Jack is glad the team’s doing well in the standings. He’s not sure how to react to constantly hearing how much _better_ he’s been playing. To his knowledge, Jack has always been playing at his best. 

Bitty, it seems, makes him better.

He doesn’t know how to process that. 

~

His parents are in the stands. Jack’s already overheard most his team gush about Papa, and Shitty loudly praising his mom’s new haircut and inviting himself to brunch the next day. Jack bounces his leg as he sits in his stall, quietly taping his socks. He wishes he could listen to music before a game, if only to tune out the conversations around him. He doesn’t check his phone, knowing there will be an encouraging message from his parents. Jack doesn’t think it’ll help. 

The routine gets him moving methodically, until he’s standing at the entrance to the tunnel waiting for the rest of his teammates to step through. Bitty waits for him, grinning when Jack taps him with his stick and tipping his head to bump their helmets together. 

“Let’s get ‘em, Jack.”

“I’ve got your back, Bits.”

And then Bitty scores the game winner. A beautiful wrister top shelf to the goalie’s glove side. Exactly what the coaches have been saying. Exactly where Jack would’ve put the puck. 

Jack’s not even on the ice when it happens. 

He goes through his postgame wind down robotically, playing over the shot in his head as he strips out of his pads. Jack’s glad the team managed an important win, is glad Bitty scored his very first goal since playing for Samwell. 

He’s happy. He really is. 

His hand won’t stop shaking. 

His parents hug him when Jack comes out of the locker room, both of them talking a mile a minute about the game and how well he played. Jack manages a few replies and a smile when his mom insists on taking pictures, but it quickly fades when Papa insists they go over and say hello to Bitty and his mom. 

It’s easy to see the family resemblance, from their colouring and accents, down to how they’re both a little starstruck when Papa introduces himself. Jack fumbles his way through the conversation, knowing he could’ve been much more polite than he actually was, before making his excuses to go and collect his thoughts in the shower. 

He’s the captain, the team’s success is his success. He shouldn’t care about whose goals his parents got to see. But. Maybe his heart wouldn’t beat so fast if he also managed to score during the game. 

Bitty breaks him out of that train of thought by catching up to him while Jack was on his way out, rambling about what a great game that was and how thankful he was for-

“Bittle.” Jack interrupts him, unbearably rude again. “It was-” A lucky shot. He wants to say. But that’s just not true. Bitty is skilled and works hard, is easy to coach and fits in seamlessly with the team. It’s unfair for Jack to discredit Bitty’s accomplishments because of his own frustrations. 

“It was a good shot Bittle,” Jack half turns, managing a smile and offering up his fist. “Let’s get you another one.”

Bitty grins at him, and taps his own fist against Jack’s. “One for me and one for you.”

Jack’s heart thumps rapidly in his chest. 

~

He doesn’t notice, at first. It’s so inconspicuous that he only sees it when he’s adjusting his socks as he laces up his skates for practice. Neat script in a small font, just above his ankle bone. 

_One for me and one for you_

Jack drops his tape on the floor and only narrowly misses hitting his other leg. Shitty glances over at him from the next stall, cracking a smile. 

“You hungover from a secret party we don’t know about?” Shitty asks, looking deeply offended at having missed this hypothetical party. 

Jack quickly pulls his socks up, trying not to draw too much attention to his ankle. “No. My hand just slipped.”

Shitty raised an eyebrow, but went back to lacing his own skates. 

He feels his own heart thumping wildly in his chest, and it takes him a few tries before he can shove his other foot into the skate. It’s only due to the fact that he’s geared up thousands of times in his life that he manages to put everything on correctly.

It shouldn’t surprise him, but it does. 

Bitty is easy to fall in love with, all kindness and open smiles. The shock of the discovery has waned a little, though Jack is still staring at the spot on his ankle, covered up now as though Jack doesn’t have a perfect imprint of it in his mind. 

He wonders what Bitty’s mark is. And then, for a horrifying moment, _if_ Bitty has one. 

It’s not common, though not unheard of. 

Jack’s hand shakes. He does his breathing exercises, and slowly the world comes back in focus. He stands and walks out towards the ice, trying not to think about what could be on Bitty’s skin.


	2. Bitty

Bitty’s mom doesn’t have a soul mark. His dad does. They’re in love. Although it caused quite a scandal when they first got married and someone in their small town found out and proceeded to gossip about it to everyone who would listen. 

Bitty’s not sure how he feels about soul marks, growing up. It makes a romantic story in the movies, but half the movies contain amnesia and tragic accidents and Bitty’s not quite up for all of that.

They seem more trouble than they’re worth, the idea of something appearing on any part of you one day, and then confronting the person you love, possibly being rejected. It doesn’t happen often, but the sheer idea of that conversation makes Bitty nervous. 

That and the idea of something foreign on his skin. What if it’s big and can’t be covered up by clothes? What if it’s not work appropriate? In the Georgian heat, there’s not a lot of skin that he covers up. Bitty hopes that if he does have a mark, it’ll be small and discrete. 

He doesn’t expect that he’ll get one, but it shows up anyway.

~

Bitty picks Samwell because it’s a good distance from home, has a hockey team that’s willing to offer him money, and is rumoured to have ‘one in four’. He likes to think he doesn’t pick Samwell solely because of that, but it’s a large part of the reason why he does. 

He’s anxious for his first practice, more so when he meets the rest of the team and sees how they all tower over him. Bitty will be the first one to admit he’s not the most built hockey player ever, but he looks utterly ridiculous when standing in between Ransom and Holster. 

And Jack. 

Jack. Well. Bless his heart.

Jack is very good at hockey. 

Jack also doesn’t say a lot and always looks like someone owes him money. Jack clearly doesn’t think much of Bitty as a player, and it’s written on his face the first time Bitty faints on the ice. 

Bitty tries, he really tries to take the hit. It’s not even a real hit, barely a push into the boards, practically gentle by hockey standards. He wants so badly to fit in on this team. He hasn’t even been here a week, and now it looks like he might not be able to stay. 

Everything else goes great, his skating, his stickhandling, getting along with his teammates. But college hockey is a contact sport, and Bitty doesn’t do well with being hit.

Jack eventually offers to help him on that front, which is very nice and also a little suspicious of him. Though Bitty is certain they could’ve gotten a rink time other than ‘too damn early in the morning’. During checking practice, Bitty learns that Jack actually has experience coaching, though his usual demographic is much younger (Jack chirps him about how Bitty’s pretty much the same height as the peewee players so it’s not all that different), and that Jack’s face is actually capable of smiling. He learns about Jack’s brief stint as a goaltender when he was coaching, and how terrible he was at it. 

“I shouldn’t have let them take shots on me after I made them skate suicides all morning.” Jack admits, when they’re skating laps around the rink together, ostensibly to warm up, but really because it still takes Bitty a long time to stand beside the boards willingly. “Most of them were aiming for me, and I still tapped in a lot of shots by accident.”

“You’re weird enough without being a goalie,” Bitty chirped, easily keeping pace with Jack even though he was going backwards. “A bit of coaching advice for the future, Mr. Zimmermann, Katya used to warn me before early morning Soviet calisthenics.”

“Just be glad I’m not making you skate suicides.” 

“I will if you’ll let me take shots at you after.”

He slowly learns to not flatten himself on the ice when someone skates rapidly at him, though Bitty doesn’t think he’ll ever be comfortable with the contact part of the game. It’s a good thing he’s fast, because Bitty’s plan A is to skate around anyone that comes at him. Plan B is to not faint after a hit. 

Jack’s chirps are endless when he sees Bitty’s grumpy expression first thing in the morning, especially when the weather turns colder and Bitty’s bundled up in his heaviest coat while Jack is walking around in a hoodie. 

“It’s barely below zero, Bittle. What are you going to do when it’s actually winter?”

“Har-har Mr. Zimmermann. Not all of us have polar bear blood in our veins to help fend off the cold.” Bitty tucks his face further into his scarf, though it’s hard to stay grumpy when your captain promises to buy you ‘one of those sweet pumpkin coffees’ after checking practice. 

He doesn’t fall down once during that practice, and Jack ends their session early, a twinkle in his eye as he suggests they race for the exit. Bitty laughs and launches himself across the ice, not that he needed the head start to out skate Jack. He touches the boards at the other end of the rink first, and Jack is laughing by the time he catches up. 

“Maybe I should wake you up at the crack of dawn to work on your skating,” Bitty grins, and shows off by skating toward the middle of the rink and performing a double axel easily, his arms stretched out as he lands. Jack claps off to the side, looking genuinely impressed. 

“I think it’ll be helpful for the team if you led a skating workshop.” Jack suggests, and Bitty is suddenly afraid he’ll actually have to do it if Jack gets the idea into his head.

“Jack, no. Ransom and Holster will want me to do lifts with them. Which. No.” Bitty sinks onto the bench to start undoing his skates, trying to imagine their defensemen learning how to do a jump. 

“I could lift you. What are you, 120?” Jack looks over at Bitty appraisingly, and Bitty as to shut that idea down right away. 

“Jack Laurent Zimmermann. Absolutely not. I’m sure you can bench a perfectly respectable amount, but I’d rather not be dropped on my head on a sheet of ice.” Bitty carefully ignores the comment about his size, he knows Jack’s arms are as thick as his thighs.He’s a perfectly normal size. It just so happens that all of his friends are stupidly tall and built.

“Papa was invited to go on Battle of the Blades, but the CBC taping schedule didn’t work out for him.” 

“Jack, I have no idea what you just said.”

“It’s a show on Canadian public television, hockey players and figure skaters team up -” Jack continues to describe the show all the way from Faber to Annie’s. It sounds so interesting that Bitty can’t believe he’s never heard of it before. 

“I can’t believe your dad was almost on a figure skating show.” Bitty has a hard time imagining Bad Bob Zimmermann in one of his figure skating outfits, and then he ends up picturing Jack in one, and bursts out laughing. 

“It’s a really popular show!” Jack protests, drawing the attention of everyone in the cafe. 

“No, just. I just pictured you figure skating.” Bitty’s still laughing as they go up to the counter and order, he’s sure they look like lunatics. 

“I could lift you.” Jack insists as he pays for them.

“I’m sure you would’ve made an excellent figure skater, Jack.”

~

Even with all the extra practice, Bitty is still nervous before his first game. The coaches haven’t kicked him off the team yet, so that’s a good sign, right? The reality of the first ever game of his NCAA career hits him as the boys march down the tunnel, all in their red Samwell jerseys and shouting at each other to get pumped up. He lingers, and half debates marching the other way. But because Jack is weird about his routines, he’s always last. Which means he’s there to witness Bitty’s quiet freakout.

Jack doesn’t patronize him, doesn’t tell him everything’s going to be kay. He just taps Bitty with his stick and bumps their helmets together. “Let’s go get ‘em. I’ve got your back, Bits.”

And somehow, Bitty believes him. He smiles up at Jack and turns to march down the tunnel with as much confidence as he’s able to muster. He gets an assist and Shitty picks him up during their celly. It’s pretty much the greatest moment ever. 

He doesn’t know if he’s accidentally made himself a part of Jack’s routine, or if Jack thinks he needs the reassurance. But it sort of becomes a thing, Bitty lingers back as much as possible to walk out before Jack, their special handshake the topic of many chirps from the rest of the team. 

“Jack. Bro. I’ve known you for two years and Bitty gets a handshake his first game?” Shitty pretends to be hurt, and flops into Jack’s lap with a dramatic hand over his eyes.

Predictably, Shitty gets pushed off and dumped into the aisle of the bus, Jack rolling his eyes at the antics while Bitty regrets not capturing everything on snapchat. 

Their chemistry doesn’t go unnoticed by the coaches, and they start to try him on Jack’s wing. Bitty never expected to play first line his first year in the NCAA, and is a little in awe of Jack even during practice. It’s one thing to watch Jack from the bench, but it’s a whole other feeling to whip the puck across the ice to Jack and see it find its way into back of the net seconds later. Sometimes it feels like he doesn’t even need to look for Jack, Jack is just there when Bitty’s being hounded by angry, violent D-men. And all Bitty has to do is saucer the puck into open ice, and then Jack is hugging him and shouting in his ear. 

His life feels a little surreal at times, between his time baking in a frat house and playing on the same line as a future NHL player, Bitty finds time to actually go to class and keep up with his vlog. 

Naturally, this is when life decides to throw the biggest wrench in his way. 

He’s making a pregame playlist when he spots a smudge of ink on the inside of his wrist, but it doesn’t go away when he absentmindedly rubs at it with his thumb. Bitty’s breath catches when he takes a closer look, almost dropping his phone. 

_I’ve got your back, Bits._

Bitty tries to be objective about it, because many of his teammates have said it or expressed something similar. But. He knows for sure that he hears it before every game, blue eyes looking down at him when Jack taps their helmets together. 

He doesn’t- his mom doesn’t have one. Bitty’s never thought about what it would mean, to have a soulmark. He admires his dad now more than ever, for summoning up the courage to tell his mom, not knowing how she would take the news. His mom, oh god. His mom drove up here all by herself to see him play. In a few minutes, Bitty is going show his mom around campus and somehow pretend everything is still the same. As if the universe hasn’t whacked him over the head with a person who’s supposed to be his perfect match. 

His mom doesn’t buy his sunny tone for a bit, looking increasingly more concerned as Bitty babbles on about what he’s been doing at school. Bitty’s just thankful it’s cold enough to warrant long sleeves. 

“Dicky, if hockey’s not working out-” She pauses, lowering the camera after taking a photo of him. “I know it gets pretty violent at this level. Your dad and I will make sure you can still go to school.”

“Mama, no. Hockey’s fine. It’s pretty great, actually.” Bitty’s realized he hasn’t talked about hockey or the team all day with his mom, probably his subconscious trying to avoid the topic of one Jack Zimmermann. “I’m just nervous about the game. Jack said his parents are going to be here. Mother, I have to play hockey in front of Bad Bob Zimmermann. It’s going to be like the time when Aunt Gloria entered that baking competition judged by Anna Olson.”

“Does Jack look much like his dad? Age has been _good_ to that man, I remember I bought a poster of him in high school-” And that had apparently been enough to reassure his mother for the moment. 

Bitty’s too conscious of his body when he’s putting his gear on, tugging on his sleeves every few seconds, though everyone’s absorbed in their own preparations and not, you know, staring at the small line of script hidden under Bitty’s underarmour. Logically, he knows no one can see it, and his excessive tugging will only draw more attention to it. Maybe it’s gone. Maybe it was just a hallucination due to stress and it wasn’t even there in the first place. 

He sneaks a peek when he’s bent over tying his skates, it’s still very much there. His stall is far enough away from Jack’s that there’s no way Jack could’ve seen it. Bitty still tugs on his jersey as fast as possible, wanting the extra layer as protection. 

Bitty’s so out of his head that he’s not sure he remembers how to hold a stick properly. But Jack is standing at the tunnel waiting for him, they go through their handshake and it settles him. In that moment Bitty believes he can take on the world.

Miraculously, he scores. 

He sees his mom yelling in the stands and he’s almost sure he can hear her over the buzzer and the teammates who crashed into him. Even more mind boggling is being congratulated on his goal by Bad Bob Zimmermann while his mother has an aneurysm beside him. Bitty tries not to sneak to many looks in Jack’s direction during the whole exchange, though he can tell even by the furtive glances that something’s not quite right with Jack. 

Usually, Jack after a win is relaxed, smiling, and will chirp Bitty incessantly. Jack’s face now reminds him of post-loss Jack, stewing in his stall until someone insists on shaking him out of his internal performance review. It’s obvious to anyone with eyes that Jack works harder than any of them, and is endlessly critical of his own performance, always pushing himself faster, harder. Jack’s been making news on sports networks pretty much since he first picked up a stick, Bitty can’t even imagine living up to those kinds of expectations. 

After promising his mom that he’ll see her for dinner, Bitty lingers in his wind down routine, acutely noticing Jack’s absence from the locker room. Bitty rubs his thumb over the soulmark as he wanders the building, looking for Jack. He’ll tell Jack, he thinks. It’s the right thing to do. Jack should know why Bitty’s staring at him every few seconds, whether or not he feels the same. Maybe Jack will pull up his own shirt and reveal a little drawing of a pie or something, but Bitty tries not to get his hopes up. 

Bitty can’t find the right words to tell Jack. Doesn’t even start. Instead, he rambles on about the game and they sink into their familiar banter. And Bitty hopes he manages to keep a normal expression on his face even though his heart is pounding so fast it threatens to leave his chest. 

He’ll tell Jack. Just, maybe not today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finale and a short epilogue next Friday! Thanks for all of your support so far, I've been loving all of the feedback! As always, feel free to drop me a line on tumblr if you wanna talk about these idiots some more.


	3. Got Your Back

Jack doesn’t think he’s very subtle. And he’s sure that Bitty will pull him aside at any moment and confront him about why Jack has been staring at him so much, and seeking him out constantly. He savours their early morning practices now, eyes drawn to Bitty’s hair in the morning light, the red of his cheeks in the New England cold, the pale column of his throat when he throws his head back in laughter.

Sometimes it feels like the truth will burst out of him at any moment, but Jack can never quite find the words to say it out loud. He ends up taking Bitty to coffee a lot and staring at him intently from across the table. The words never manage to make it out of his mouth. 

Still, getting to spend all of that time with Bitty, learning about his life and bumping their legs together under the table. Well, it’s not a terrible way to spend what downtime he has. 

Even if Bitty hasn’t noticed his strange behavior, Jack must be letting something slip during his calls home.

“...took me and a few of the guys to a farmer’s market up near Providence last weekend. I think Bitty just needed help carrying pumpkins and crates of apples. Shitty and Lardo carved a jack o’latern with my face.” Jack frowned at that, remembering the proud expressions on their faces when he came home to it the other day.

Papa laughed uproariously, shaking his head. “I can’t believe your mother and I never thought of that.”

“Papa!”

“Eric sounds like a great influence, if he can get you boys outside and actually eating fruits and vegetables.” Papa’s eyes crinkled. “You sound like you had fun, Jack.”

“Good bicep workout. Lifting squash.” Jack ducked his head, running a hand through his hair. 

“It’s nice that you boys are exploring the area, you might not get a chance to after you graduate.” Papa smiled softly. “I saw the pictures you sent your mother. Eric looks like he’s dressed for a blizzard mid-February.”

“He’s from Georgia, he thinks 5 degrees is winter jacket weather. I keep telling him he’s going to be shocked when winter hits.” Does Bitty even have proper winter gear? Jack’ll have to ask. 

“Well you keep an eye on him, son. Make sure he stays warm.”

“Yeah, we can’t keep switching the lines around when we’re trying to push for a playoff spot.”

“Sure, Jack.” Papa chuckled, but Jack couldn’t help but feel that he’s missed out on something.

~

Bitty’s place on his right wing is now permanent. And Jack, as doubtful as he was about Bitty as a player when they first met, couldn’t deny the kind of chemistry they had together. And once Bitty becomes less nervous about the possibility of being hit, he absolutely comes into his own on the ice.The coaches were right, Bitty did make him a better player. And it wasn’t just that they were producing as a line- though they did rack up a ton of points- but Jack was coming up with plays he’s never considered before. 

They’re in 5-on-5 overtime with less than a minute left, and Jack really didn’t want all of their hard work to just end up in a tie.He skates by Bitty before he goes to take the faceoff, tapping Bitty’s shinpad with his stick. 

“It’s coming to you.” He says as quietly as he can manage, before lining up at the dot. 

He gets asked a lot what he thinks about when he’s taking a faceoff. And honestly? Jack usually tries to think about nothing at all. He watches the puck with as much focus as he can, trusting muscle memory and years of practice for the rest. But as he sinks into position now? Jack thinks about Bitty behind him, poised, ready for his pass. 

The puck drops. Jack wins the faceoff. 

Bitty takes off at the speed of light, ducking around defensemen and clearing the blue line in seconds. Jack’s coming up right behind him, focusing on getting open, being there for when Bitty is ready. Sure enough, Bitty saucers a beautiful no-look pass across the ice, right to Jack’s tape. 

He shoots blocker side, it gets deflected. 

Bitty’s there for the rebound and gives it a tap, with defensemen towering over him and trying their best to shove him off the puck. 

The puck slips right underneath the goalie’s pads and across the goal line. 

Bitty leaps into his arms as the buzzer sounds, screaming excitedly into his ear. The rest of their team piles on them soon enough. 

_“And what a goal to win the game! Number fifteen, Eric Bittle! And off an assist by our very own captain, number one, Jaaaack Zimmermann! Samwell is now-”_

In those few seconds though? Jack feels more settled than he’s ever felt. The weight of Bitty’s body against him, his flushed face and expressive brown eyes, shouting ‘Jack! Jack we did it!’. In those few seconds Jack can almost feel the writing on his ankle burning on his skin. 

Even a few months ago, Jack’s not sure he would’ve made the play he did. If he were on a breakaway like that? Chances are he would’ve tried his chance on net instead of choosing to pass. 

Jack used to check his point ranking obsessively. Did he improve over the season? What was his plus/minus like? How could he improve and get more points?

And now, with Bitty? He finds he honestly doesn’t care. How many points he tallies up doesn’t compare to the rush of Bitty charging into him for a celly. Doesn’t compare to knowing that Bitty knows how to find him, knows what he’s thinking without them having to even look at each other. The type of synchronicity they have is.. Intoxicating. 

The rush continues off the ice, is the thing. 

And everytime Jack opens his mouth to tell Bitty, he finds he just can’t summon up the courage. 

He takes what he can get. They continue their practices, even though Bitty didn’t really need it at this point. But it’s become the best part of his week. Everything from the grumpy expression on Bitty’s face to the way they both lingered over their coffees after, talking about anything and nothing. It’s their own little world, watching the sunrise through the windows at Faber, the familiar walk back through campus. 

The routine settles him. Bitty settles him. 

And when that routine is interrupted by the erratic schedule the playoffs, Jack misses their time together. On the ice, however, their chemistry is better than ever. 

It’s another one of those clutch moments, the team they’re up against is scrappy and not afraid to get dirty. Jack knows what they need to do. They get this goal, they move on. If they don’t, Samwell’s season is over, it’s as simple as that. 

Jack sees how they could do it, how he could get the puck to Bitty and trust that he’ll make it happen. However, as they leave the bench, he sees a couple of opposing defensemen huddled together and looking at Bitty intently. Jack’s watched and played a lot of hockey in his life, he knows Bity will be squashed like a bug as soon as he gets the puck. 

It could work. But as much as Jack believes in Bitty to protect himself and outskate just about anybody out there, Jack just can’t take that chance. 

He shakes his head minutely at Bitty when they get into position for the faceoff. Jack wins the faceoff, and it doesn’t go to Bitty. The puck goes to Einhardt and comes back to Jack when he’s tearing down the neutral zone. He’s got Bitty behind him as they go on the attack, but it just doesn’t happen for them. 

They try their best. But it just doesn’t happen.

The other team clears the puck as the last few seconds on the clock tick down. Jack’s heart sinks as the buzzer sounds. 

The air is stagnant in the locker room, everyone quietly stripping out of their gear and wanting to get out of there as quickly as possible. The coaches follow them inside and say a few encouraging things, but that doesn’t change the outcome of the game. Jack doesn’t make eye contact as he winds down, shoving all of his gear back into his bag. It’s too much to be here with the team right now, knowing that he’s let them down. Knowing that he didn’t make the right call to get them the win. Deep down inside, Jack knows they’re good enough. That’s what hurts the most. Knowing they were good enough to have gone til the end and taken it all, and falling short.   
He slips out of the room and goes to the loading dock, his head in his hands as he reflects back on their season. There’s so many what ifs and could ifs, and while a part of Jack knows it’s not good for him to go down that route, his mind is reeling over every play, every shot, every bounce that could’ve gone their way but didn’t.

“Jack?” Bitty is propping the door open with his body, clearly uncertain about whether or not Jack wants him there. And while it would be easy to send Bitty away and wallow by himself, Jack just shuffles over until there’s enough room for them both to sit. 

He feels the heat of Bitty’s body against his as they lean on each other, neither of them saying anything for a while. 

“I’m sorry Jack.” Bitty says quietly. 

“I’m sorry too, Bits.” Jack sighs, looking down at him. “This team… I wish I could’ve made it happen for us.”

“It’s a team sport, Jack. It’s not just on you.” 

Logically, Jack knows that. But it sure doesn’t feel like that’s the case. He opens his mouth to say that, but Bitty interrupts him. “No, Jack. I know what you wanna say. But this isn’t all on you. You’re a great captain. You’ve always had my back, I wouldn’t be playing half as well without you. And playing with you has just been the most amazing-” 

Bitty rambles on and looks up at him with such trust and intent, and Jack realizes they’re basically sitting nose to nose. 

“Bitty, listen.” Jack cuts him off, nervously rubbing his palms together. “This is the worst timing in the world. But. _Merde._ ” 

Growing up, he must have heard ‘you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take’ a million times. It’s a whole other thing altogether to try and live by that mantra with his heart beating out of his chest, his fingers unsteady as he starts to lower his sock. The writing is still on his skin, and Jack runs his fingers over it like he does every night before going to bed. He hears Bitty’s breath hitch, but he doesn’t lift his head to meet Bitty’s eyes just yet.

“I waited for the right moment to tell you. And then I couldn’t summon up the nerve.” Jack stares at his mark for a moment longer, and then chances a glance at Bitty. 

“You ridiculous man.” A warm hand lays over the mark above his ankle, and Bitty gives him a squeeze before he starts to pull up his shirt sleeve. “Do you know how long I spent thinking you had no mark at all? If you said hockey was your first and only love on this earth I probably would’ve believed you! Or, heavens forbid, I’d tell you and you’d say Shitty’s stupid moustache was on your thigh or something.”

Jack’s heartbeat skids to a stop when he sees it. It’s not like how the movies describe it. He doesn’t feel the rotation of the earth, time doesn’t stop, and blue birds don’t suddenly start singing.

All of the turmoil and tension within him just… settles. Jack’s head is quiet, and he reaches out. 

EPILOGUE

Jack doesn’t end up proposing with the Cup ring, he finds he can’t wait that long. 

When he wins the Stanley Cup with the Providence Falconers, Jack looks for Bitty when all of their families rush onto the ice. Every reporter in the world must stop him for a sound bite, because it feels like an eternity before he reaches his family, all dressed in matching jerseys. His parents squeeze him tight and tell him how proud they are, and Bitty stands to the side grinning at them and taking photos with his phone. Jack gives Papa another hug before they let go, and turns to face Bitty. 

Bitty throws himself into Jack’s arms immediately, and Jack is only briefly aware of the camera shutters and flashes going off around them. Jack lifts him up and spins him around, and Bitty laughs delightedly into his ear. Their relationship is kind of an open secret by this point. Jack’s never come out and made an official statement confirming or denying, and it irritates him that people think he needs to. He brings Bitty to family skate, the All-Star games, the NHL awards, and the media have more or less given up on getting a definitive answer out of Jack. 

“Bitty! Bitty just wait, I need to says something.” Jack chuckles, setting him down and running his thumb over his boyfriend’s cheekbone. They can barely hear each other over the noise in the stadium, and Jack presses his lips right against Bitty’s ear to make sure nothing he says next gets missed. 

“You know I love you, yeah? More than anything.” Somewhere on his laptop was a draft of what Jack wanted to say, planned to say. Something that tries to capture just what Bitty means to him and how happy he’s made Jack. He doesn’t try to recreate that speech now. Jack just takes Bitty’s face gently between his hands, leaning their foreheads together. “Marry me?”

Bitty’s eyes widen, and he breaks into the widest grin, nodding enthusiastically at him. “Yes.” 

His captain comes over with the Stanley cup, looking between them for a moment before holding it out. Jack hoists it over his head, and leans down to press his lips to Bitty’s. 

Their engagement photo is taken from every possible angle. And as far as hardware goes, Jack decides that giving Bitty the Cup isn’t half bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for all of your comments and feedback, I enjoyed reading every single one of them! That's it from me for this verse. But of course anyone is welcome to play around in the same verse, just shoot me a line so I can give you a shout-out.

**Author's Note:**

> More to come next week! This fic is basically all written, I'm just doing some editing and making sure that it all makes sense before I throw it all into the world. As always, feel free to come yell at me on [tumblr](http://dizzilytwirling.tumblr.com/). I haven't written in a long time, but some ideas just demand to be expressed.


End file.
